


Mourning Star

by tirsynni



Category: Bible (New Testament)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 17:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirsynni/pseuds/tirsynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both knew how it would end, but it didn't stop either of them from trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourning Star

His slender hand seemed infinitely pale against Jesus’ dark skin.  
  
Jesus didn’t look at his face, but he did study the pale hand. Strangely fragile and almost feminine in the seeming care laid to it: soft and smooth and untouched. Someone else could easily underestimate that hand.  
  
Jesus knew better.  
  
Of course, he knew better about many things, but he couldn’t help but try, “You could still repent.”  
  
Laughter, warm as the sunlight on his skin. “And you can yield.”  
  
Jesus looked away from the hand. It didn’t move from his arm. “Our Father would welcome you with open arms,” he murmured. “The Kingdom awaits you still.”  
  
“And this earthly kingdom awaits you here.” The hand finally moved, uncallused fingers gentle against his skin. “Why wait?”  
  
Peter would be frothing at the mockery in that warm voice. Jesus knew better than to introduce this threat just yet. Soon enough, his disciples would see. “He still Loves you.”  
  
The fingers moved like silk over him, gliding to his wrist, then to his elbow, then back again. Warmth spread through his arm. “Like He Loves you,” he agreed. “Enough to watch you die.”  
  
The words could have carried an edge. This one needed no calluses on his fingers: his voice was his weapon, and they both knew it.  
  
Both knew he wasn’t here to attack.  
  
“Enough to give us all a second chance,” Jesus returned, gentle chiding in his voice. He had waited for this day, but instead of feeling prepared, he only felt tired.  
  
Breath on the back of his neck, warm and strangely tender. If Jesus turned now, he would see beauty unimaginable on this earth. Heaven had fashioned the voice, the touch, the purity, even if it now resembled the purity of the relentless sun at midday in the middle of the desert, beautiful and more than enough to drive a man to his knees.  
  
To his grave.  
  
“Those second chances are always for the few, those who sacrifice the lamb. His Mercy is great, but never forget His Wrath is greater.”  
  
No bitterness touched those gentle words. Only a statement of fact in his perspective. Jesus rested a hand over those pale fingers, stopping them at his elbow. The warmth continued to spread, sultry and deep, slithering through his blood. The heat tingled through his own fingers, but Jesus didn’t let go.  
  
“His Mercy,” he corrected quietly, “is always greater.”  
  
The warmth swelled inside him, unfurling like feathers. It beckoned him to just lean back, into the heat, into the breath so close to his flesh. Jesus didn’t move, didn’t look away from the bottom of the mountain. His people bustled there, oblivious to the threat just above their heads.  
  
“For His son, you are naïve.” A puff of air, tickling the back of his neck, and for a moment, the warmth of a body pressed against his back. “I’ll be back. You have time before the cock crows.”  
  
Then the warmth was gone, leaving a chill that threatened to seep into his bones. Jesus still didn’t look; instead, he closed his eyes and prayed.


End file.
